


Memories

by That_One_Yaoi_Kid



Series: Summit [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Carl is 21, Coffee Shop, M/M, Millennial life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-13 00:03:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11172798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_One_Yaoi_Kid/pseuds/That_One_Yaoi_Kid
Summary: How amazing. Carl has met a human that has the possibility of flipping his world upside down and the millennial is hungover.





	Memories

**Author's Note:**

> Carl lives a millennial life of weed, alcohol, night clubs, and minimum wage jobs. Negan lives as a widower businessman with two kids and a newfound interest in whatever Carl has to offer.

Carl’s head is pounding, the room is spinning around him, his throat is desert dry, and he’s almost one-hundred percent sure he’ll either puke his insides out or collapse. And in the case he’s in now, he hopes for both.

 

Hangovers are a fucking pain, especially for how much of a lightweight Carl is, and his boss isn’t making it any fucking better at the moment.

 

“Carl! Are you even paying attention?!” Beth squeals, and Carl has to bite back a scream for help as the world around him blurs, and his hearing is veiled in sharp ringing. Carl suddenly holds his head in his hand involuntarily, and the millennial silently prays he won’t be fired for being hungover during his shift.

 

Beth is silent for a moment, as she racks her mind for an explanation as to why Carl is acting this way. And she gasps when she finally finishes the equation, “You’re hungover?!”   
  


Carl cringes at her irritating squawk, “Good work, Captain Obvious. Took ‘ya long enough, don’t ‘ya think? Now, please do me a favor and end my suffering with steaming espresso?”

 

Beth exhales dramatically, like having a hungover employee is such a chore. “I don’t pay you to get drunk, Carl.” 

 

“You barely pay me at all,” Carl retorts, rubbing his temples.

 

Beth gasps like some stereotypical self-entitled cheerleader from an old high school movie. Knowing her, it’s a ridiculous, but genuine gasp. “Whatever, just do your job without puking on the customers and I’ll let you clock out at three.” 

 

And with that, the irritable blonde loudly struts out the room, leaving a groaning Carl who’s migraine is only getting worse the more he rolls his eyes. 

 

He sighs, only slightly grateful he can quit early. Only by two hours, but in his life, you need to enjoy the little things. He runs a hand through his hair, downs the rest of his water after taking Aspirin before finally getting up and walking out the small breakroom and straight to the counter. 

 

And everything is calm after Beth flips over the open sign, for about thirty minutes. Carl then realizes he has truly stepped into hell when the tiny bell rings as the front door opens for the first time today.

\-- --

“Sorry for the wait, ma’am.” Carl apologizes as sweet as he can fake it, and the woman gives him a small grateful smile when he hands her her iced coffee. 

 

“Have a good day, Tara?” Carl raises an eyebrow at the woman, making sure he got her name right, and the woman gives a nod.

 

“Thank you, honey. You too!” She shrills as she swings the door wide open, tossing a smile over her shoulder as she exits, and Carl swore quietly at the ringing.

 

Beth’s coffee shop is literally the worst place to be hungover; her voice alone is enough to make someone’s ears bleed, the interior walls are a loud shade of green, the exterior walls are champagne pink, the entire cafe is light up like a Christmas tree with fairy lights and full-on spotlights, and the devil himself lives in that fucking bell by the door. 

 

Carl looks around the small shop that’s merely empty; a silent old lady in the corner who is about two sips away from death, a young couple probably on some date by the front windows, and some rich aesthetic college girl who keeps taking pictures of her frappuccino in the back. 

 

Sighing under his breath, Carl turns his attention on the clock above the door. 

 

_ 2:45pm _

 

Luckily, it’s a digital clock, so Carl wouldn’t have to be there all day trying to decipher it. His phone buzzes in his pocket, but he can’t bother to answer it, knowing that once he picks up his phone, he won’t be able to put it back down. And with about fifteen minutes until he clocks out, every tip counts. 

 

That damned bell rings, and Carl cringes as the customer who set the fucking demon off shouts, “Afternoon, Beth!” He squeezes his eyes shut and physically bites his tongue to keep himself composed. 

 

The obnoxious man steps up to the counter, and by the look on his face, Carl can already tell he’s going to be different. He’s attractive, loud, but extremely attractive. 

 

He gives Carl a warm smile, and the brunette forces himself to smile back. “Afternoon, what can I get for you?” Carl slides his notepad out of his waist apron, and clicks his pen, never breaking eye contact.

 

The loud, attractive asshole has light brown eyes, a salt and pepper scruff, black softly graying hair, and he’s rather tall, maybe 6’2 which is giant compared to Carl who barely reaches the 5’7 mark. He has little dimples when he smiles, and he’s dressed in a light brown undershirt, a navy blue blazer, dark jeans, and brown Oxfords.

 

He nods behind Carl’s left shoulder, “Vanilla frappuccino with a shot of espresso and extra creamer, with a strawberry english muffin,” Attractive asshole leans forward to get a better look at Carl’s name tag, “ _ Carl _ . What a nice name, I’m Negan.” 

 

Carl bites his lip and smiles, “Thanks,  _ Negan. _ And is that really all you want? I thought you would be the type to make it a fucking list on what you want in your frap. Sure you don’t want some soy, caramel drizzle, raw sugar without whip? Oh, and serve it 34 degrees?”

 

Negan’s laugh explodes inside the small cafe, disrupting any remaining peace. But he doesn’t pay any mind to the sudden attention drawn to him. “Nah, kid. Maybe another day, but I’m in no rush, take your time,  _ Carl  _ and feel free to poison me with almond milk in my drink or sour cream in my english muffin.” 

 

Carl smiles and Negan turns to sit at a table, two seats across from each other by the window. On his way, Negan sends a wink at Carl over his shoulder, and Carl feels his face flush. While the man takes a seat, Carl notices that he has a laptop bag when he moves to unzip it. He shakes his head, turning on his heel to make Negan’s order. 

\-- --

Carl puts in the effort to stomp his white Chuck’s on the yellow-tile of the floor while he makes his way to where Negan is sitting. Negan, who had his nose buried in the bright screen of his laptop, looks up with a shit-eating grin. 

 

Carl flashes a sweet smile, very close to genuine which is surprising, judging how his day has been shit until now. When he reaches the table, he carefully places the frappuccino and Negan’s strawberry english muffin (that lies perfectly on a lavender plate) in front of Negan as the man closes his laptop and moves it aside. 

 

“Almond milk vanilla frappuccino and strawberry and sour cream english muffin for only the best of customers.” Carl jokes, giggling under his breathe when Negan chuckles loudly.

 

“Why thank you, sunshine. Say, I’ve never seen you here before.” The older man flashes another smile, taking a sip of his coffee.    
  
Carl nods, “I just started working last month and I only work on Wednesdays and Fridays. Plus, I’m hungover more than half the time so don’t be too surprised if you don’t see me next week.” 

 

Negan laughs again, “You didn’t strike me as the drinking type, how old are you?” 

  
“Just turned twenty-one, and I’m rolling in the advantages.” 

 

Negan’s smile just widens, “Damn, thought you would be younger than that! Enjoy your youth, kid.”   
  
“As I’ve been told many times before, old man.” Carl giggles, punching Negan’s shoulder lightly.  _ Nice flirting jackass,  _ Carl thinks to himself. But Negan doesn’t seem to mind his poor social skills.

 

“Hey, now. I’m not as old as you think, kiddo.” 

 

“Anyone that uses the word ‘kiddo’ nowadays are at least above the age of forty.” Carl remarks with a grin.

 

“Fair play,  _ Carl _ .” Negan smirks, taking another sip of his coffee.

 

Carl chuckles, looking down at his shoes before glancing up at the clock. If Beth stays to her word, he’s free to go.    
  


“Well, my shift has just ended, and judging by your attire you have a job to return to, so how about I give you my number and we do something on Sunday?” Carl pulls out his notepad and scribbled his number down before ripping off the page and slapping it on the table.

 

Negan smiles, “Wow, you’re a little badass, aren’t ‘ya? Well, I will certainly make room for you on Sunday and I will most definitely call you, tonight?”

Carl nods, “It’s a date, old man.”

And with that, the millennial spins on his heel and makes a beeline for the back door, a smile practically splitting his lips.

\-- --

Carl steps out of the back doorway, quickly fishing his phone out of his pocket. 

 

_ ‘One new message: Enid’ _

 

Carl takes a deep breath, shutting the door behind him and starts walking to his car as he opens the message.

 

Enid: “How’s the hangover treating ‘ya?”

 

With a roll of his eyes, Carl thumbs a reply and climbs into car.

 

Carl: “For the love of  _ Cheez Its,  _ never let me get drunk on a Thursday ever again. Beth’s voice was absolute torture.”

Enid: “Damn, that bad, huh?”

 

Carl starts his car, tossing his phone in the passenger’s seat until it buzzes again.

 

Enid: “Well, you did get pretty crazy last night, dude.”

Carl: “??”

Enid: “Of course you don’t remember.”   
Carl: “I was drunk, do I ever remember?”

 

Enid: “No, not really. And you’ll just deny it if I tell you what happened, so I took a picture or two.”

Carl: “Christ, please don’t tell me you posted it.”

Enid: “Who the hell do you think I am, C? Jesus Christ?”

Enid sent a picture!

 

With his suspicions rising, Carl opens the photo and for the first time in a while, he’s genuinely surprised. 

 

It’s a dark photo, only slightly lit up for Enid putting on the flash. Carl is practically grinding on a older guy, maybe mid fifties who is balding on the top and is dressed like some kind of mechanic. Carl, dressed like a hooker with a red flannel over a gray midriff top, dark blue shorts, and black converse, has the older man’s bottom lip between his teeth and he has a leg wrapped around the man’s waist, and the latter is obviously groping Carl’s ass. 

 

Carl has to swallow a bit of bile rising in his throat at the pornagraphic sight, knowing that the sick fuck knew he was drunk and Carl silently prays they kept their clothes on.

 

Carl: “Please tell me that’s all I did with Trevor from GTA?”   
Enid: “Pfft...you worry too much, Grimes. Yeah, it is. The flash caught Duane’s attention so he ripped the guy off you before you passed out. We took you home, washed you up a bit and changed your clothes. Relax, we wouldn’t let someone like him take advantage of you =)”

 

Carl releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, and briefly feels a little guilty he ever thought his friends would let him go home with someone like him.

 

Carl: “Thanks E, you’re my savior.”   
Enid: “Don’t mention it, man. It’s what I do best. I’m an angel without wings!”

Carl: “So...a person?”

Enid: “Damn it, true point, boy wonder.”

Carl: “You’re welcome B-man, but hopefully you won’t have to protect me anymore.”

Enid: “Oh really now? What? Found someone worth your time?”   
Carl: “Maybe. That or someone found me worth their money.”

Enid: “Sly son of a bitch. How old? How rich? And what’s his shoe size?”

Carl: “#1: My mother wasn’t a bitch, she was a whore. #2: That’s very rude to ask. #3: Works where he has casual Friday? And #4: Shoe size isn’t important.”

Enid: “True, true, good sign, and shoe size is very important when it comes to your sex life, Carlton.”

 

Carl guffaws and rolls his eyes, but he can’t ignore the nagging voice in his head about Enid being right, and Enid is always right.

 

Carl: “Whatever you say, Green Bean. Go back to your garden, I have to drive home as a  _ legal  _ civilian.”

Enid: “Legal, my ass, potato.”

 

Carl smiles, turning his phone off and pocketing it, suddenly unable to get last night’s image out of his head. The clothes were something so different than what he’s wearing now: a white sweater tucked into a plaid skirt, with black stockings underneath, and white Chuck’s. Then again, he  _ was _ just working, and last night he had a country’s worth of freedom off to get drunk.

 

Shaking his thoughts away, Carl backs out the parking spot carefully and begins his drive home.


End file.
